


When Dawn Comes, You'll Be Okay Darling

by Introvertedfangirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Takes Care of Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Sick Character, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sickfic, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tenderness, i honestly have no idea what I was going for here because it's kind of pre-slash/established, my bois are soft, rated t for swears hehe, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introvertedfangirl/pseuds/Introvertedfangirl
Summary: Unheeded, a harsh rasp escaped his chest, the kind that scratches the soft tissue of your chest bone, and drags the cough out of you, like a poison trying to be rejected.  Fingers that were so capable of gripping the glimmering steel of his sword, fumbled softly at his night shirt in an agitated attempt to gain control over his body. Predictably, he failed. Never a man to know his own limits, a series of rapid-fire coughs tore through his body.-Geralt is sick and Jaskier takes care of him
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	When Dawn Comes, You'll Be Okay Darling

**Author's Note:**

> As an American I am f*cking stressedD so I did this instead of watching for the election, and I did this instead of turning in my English paper, because honestly why the f*ck now 😍. Like, I'm either gonna loose my rights or who knows. Anwayyyss....So enjoy!!! It's the way this was supposed to be 492 words fOr Me.

It had been on the second night that Geralt’s hands had begun to shake. As imperceptible as it originally seemed, under cover of night, the slight tremble of those pale hands wavered through that stark canvas. Far into the night, the man’s fever had broken, but to the touch, the Witcher’s hands were still a clammy sort of dry- cold like a dead fish. But he was not dead.

No, rather, Geralt had _been_ gravely ill. It was only last night when they—him and his Bard— had stumbled upon the clearing. With the Witcher already so ill, Jaskier had set up camp. Everything and anything in-between that, the Witcher had lost track of. The younger man had been a blur of rouge, against the darkening background, of a rosy sky, bleeding into a coal canvas. Faintly, Geralt remembered the Bard laying out a bed roll just before the larger man collapsed onto it.

Somewhere in the night he must have woken up. Because now, as he lay on the bed roll, his fevered brow moist with sweat, he could hear the gentle snuffing sound of Jaskier sleeping. Drifting down from the evergreens, the distinct honeyed smell mixed with bitterness wafted into his nostrils. He was somewhat surprised he could even smell it. Without even touching his face, he understood that his sinuses were severely swollen.

Along with that breeze, came a cool relief, that stirred the forest floor he and his Bard were settled on. Gently, it grasped at the few wispy white hairs about the Witcher’s face. Apparently in his fevered stupor, Jaskier had been kind enough to draw that silvery hair back into a loose braid. Geralt vowed right then and there, to never tell Jaskier, just how much he appreciated that the younger man had done this. Somewhere in his chest something warm, other than his persistent cough pressed in on him.

Glancing to the side, the Witcher could just make out where the fire had been. The bed of embers that once glowed orange were now a dull greyish black. With an effort, Geralt moved to change to a sitting position. However, he realized to late that he had severely miscalculated how ill he had been and perhaps, though he begrudgingly admitted, still might be.

Unheeded, a harsh rasp escaped his chest, the kind that scratches the soft tissue of your chest bone, and drags the cough out of you, like a poison trying to be rejected. Fingers that were so capable of gripping the glimmering steel of his sword, fumbled softly at his night shirt in an agitated attempt to gain control over his body. Predictably, he failed. Never a man to know his own limits, a series of rapid-fire coughs tore through his body.

Yes, the silver haired hunter _would_ describe it as a tearing, for it felt as if a striga had reached its hands into his chest and was now playing a game of back in forth with its claws. Except, it was not simply just long claws, but rather, they were jagged edged too; nails that were so gnarled, they caught on that soft tissue of his chest.

In short, it was absofuckinglutely, an excruciating experience. Accompanied with Geralt’s attempts to hold the coughs in, the pain nearly doubled in rebellion against the Witcher’s battle for control.

At the end of what felt like an hour-long struggle to the Witcher, but was in fact just barely over a minute, Jaskier had sat up from his bedroll. Unnoticed by the Witcher, the Bard sat absolutely still examining his fellow traveling companion. Soft blue eyes were currently hardened by an intense type of concern. This was contrasted however, by the nervous twitching of his lips, and overall outmatched by his tone. It was to Geralt’s slight annoyance, the one he often used on Roach to calm her down if she needed.

“Geralt? You’re not ok… Right not the best way to start out, stating the obvious. Erm. Start over then shall we?”

Taking a breath, the Bard stood up and shuffled over to the Witcher. In the dark he nearly stumbled several times. And Geralt, controlled his sudden hysteric urge to laugh like a maniac. Yes, he was not quite sure the fever _had_ broken. Settling down next to him, the Bard squatted down, meeting eyes with his avoidant companion. Geralt could not help but notice the way that the Bard’s curly hair, that over the few months they’d been on the path, now flopped over his forehead. It was ~~lovely~~ , no it was suitable for their travels.  
Completely unaware of Geralt’s turn of thought, the Bard opened his mouth to continue his attempt at an interrogation.

“The coughs? I know they hurt you terribly.”

Before Geralt could even interject with his usual hmm, the Bard narrowed his eyes at the Witcher. Geralt took pause at the emotions swirling behind those cornflower blue orbs. There was something moist about those blue irises, and to his surprise, the Witcher found that he did not like that. He was both embarrassed that he appeared to be the cause, and illogically angry all at the same time.

How dare Jaskier care? How dare he care, when Geralt could never possibly return the same sentiment. But perhaps, that was the lie the Witcher told himself to be comfortable. To imagine that he was keeping his Bard at a safe distance.

“Anwayyyy,” the bard intoned, emphasizing that word as if he understood everything that had just gone through Geralt’s mind.

“You’ve been sick ever since you fell into that lake on the last job w-, ah, yes _you_ did. It took everything to get you here after you broke out into a fever. Tell me what’s wrong. You are _not_ allowed to fucking die on me. Not yet at least.”

At the end of this lengthy statement, the Bard’s cheeks pinked slightly, and he thanked Melitele for the dense covering of a moonless night. Towards the end, his tone had grown a little desperate, aided by a steely tone, he had not even known himself capable of. But under that steely tone was entwined a shakier one, a voice that trembled with tenderness he dare not show.

In a way, he was almost afraid that the Witcher would become angry with him. And suddenly a memory unbidden to him creeped into his mind. A memory of a mage, a mountain, and words shouted in haste, but that hurt just the same. A shiver ran down the Bard’s spine. He turned a pair of pleading eyes towards his Witcher, and silently prayed he answer him. Jaskier could not help without words.

Raising his eyes to meet this look, Geralt held Jaskier’s gaze, and suddenly all he wanted to do was just to submit to Jaskier. To feel well again, for Jaskier to be the one who took away everything. With this thought in mind, the Witcher surprised himself by reaching out his hand towards the Bard. Choosing not to touch Jaskier lest he scare him, he rested one large hand next to Jaskier’s lithe, slender one. He was so tired. But he owed this man an explanation.

“My chest” he rumbled, before realizing that this irritated said anatomical area even more. So, taking a deep breath, he continued on haltingly, in what was most likely the softest voice the Bard had ever heard him speak in.

“I believe that that the mucous from my being ill has gathered there. I cannot still be sick but the sickness’s remnants…they are.” Grimacing he finished. “Painful”

As Geralt talked, Jaskier had allowed himself to drop from his squatted position, and now he had scooted right next to Geralt. In so many ways they were flush against each-other, but in many others there was a divide wider than a canyon. Hesitatingly, Jaskier raised his hand and rested it gently on Geralt’s chest. When the Witcher made no move to jerk away from him, the Bard focused in on the rise and fall of the Witcher’s chest. To Jaskier it seemed painfully halting.

Without a thought, Jaskier crowded Geralt’s space, and dipping down he pressed his ear to the Witcher’s chest. Yes, indeed, there was a crackly sound with every breath his Witcher took.

Above his head, the Bard could not see how much his Witcher’s eyes had widened in shock. They had been close to each other before, and the Witcher was not prone to waxing romantic. However, there was something unbearably tender in the way that the Bard had simply, and so swiftly moved to listen to his chest. Splayed against the right side of his chest, Geralt could feel the slightly roughened edges of Jaskier’s fingertips bracing the Bard against him. Though the Witcher would never admit it to his Bard, it was extremely grounding.

From Jaskier’s position although he could not see Geralt the sudden…well…everythingness of his current position struck him. And he was mortified to find, that he found it rather wonderful, how natural it felt to have his head—well, ear really, pressed up against Geralt’s chest. It just felt right. But now. Well, now was simply not the fucking time for these thoughts. The poor man was in pain and ill.

Pulling back with all the grace he could muster, the Bard peered into Geralt’s almost too bright amber eyes. With every ounce of dignity he could summon he willed himself not to blush again.

“Well your chest is definitely full of liquid.” At Geralt’s rolled eyes of _I could have told you that_ , Jaskier chose to ignore and continued.

“I know it hurts right now darling, but I believe I may have just the thing.”

In response to a quizzically raised alabaster brow, Jaskier raised a finger in a familiar tut-tutting action. Despite the pain, Geralt could not help the smile that twitched at his lips.

“Hmm, please then, Jask.” And neither one of them acknowledged that rarely used nickname.

Getting up, Jaskier shook his legs out before making his way to his traveling bag that was leaning up against a sturdy oak tree, where Roach was tied. At the stomp of her hooves and a slight huffing, Jaskier raised a hand to run down her mane in a soothing action

“Don’t worry girl, he’ll be all right.” Leaning own the brunette begin to hurriedly rustle through his bag. After a minute or two of him cursing intermittently, he closed his eyes, and taking a deep breath, he felt around the bag until his hand closed around the desired item. Pulling it out of the bag, he held in his hand, a medicine bottle filled with an herbal decongestant that mostly consisted of mint. Quicker than the first time, the Bard made his way back to Geralt. Sitting beside him he uncorked the medicine.

“Shirt open? Please?”

This was asked in a soft tone, and Geralt for once complied with the Bard’s demands without needling or ignoring him. But after a moment of fumbling with the strings of his night shirt, Jaskier with a sure air, rested his hands calmly over the Witcher’s and lowered them.

Unwilling to meet the Bard’s eyes, Geralt allowed him to untie his shirt. And of course, this moment would be when another series of coughs decided to run through Geralt’s body. In burning desperation to not hack all over the Bard Geralt made to turn away. And all of sudden, his Bard was sitting behind him, bracing Geralt-his chest pressed flush to Geralt’s broad back. Two strong hands rested on the Witcher’s shoulders, and on the back of his neck, Geralt felt the soft warm brushes of Jaskier’s breath, disturbing the few loose strands left out from the braid that the brunette had made. When his fit was over, Jaskier did not say anything. Instead, he rested his chin gently into the crook of his Witcher’s shoulder. For a brief moment that felt so much longer they sat like that. Then, Jaskier let out a gentle huff of air.

“All done?”

Instead of nodding his head, Geralt tried to answer Jaskier

“Yes, Bard.”

Adjusting slightly behind Geralt, the Bard placed a generous amount of the herbal ointment onto his hands. Raising his hands in front of him, and above Geralt’s chest, he stopped just a hairs breadth away from the Witcher’s skin, as if asking permission. In response to this, Geralt slipped down slightly, so that he could lay his head back onto the space on Jaskier’s chest closest to the Bard’s arm. The hollow of his shoulder? And he let out a soft hmm of acquiescence.

Lowering his hands, Jaskier drew them in gentle, but pressing circles across Geralt’s chest. As the ointment was rubbed its aromatic qualities wafted into the Witcher’s nostrils, opening his chest up and soothing it.

“Better darling?”

“With you, always Bard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are at the end I hope this was good, I only read over it twice so I'm sure there's mistakes. if there is anything grave someone please let me know!  
> Also when I tell you that the herbal rub scene mad me want to cry, Yeah idk if I'll ever write smut 💀💀💀


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